


Double Diffraction Dissociation

by Interiorwinter



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: AU, And a particle physicist, M/M, Prior drug use, Reid is a musician, prior abusive relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-07-12 19:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19951318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interiorwinter/pseuds/Interiorwinter
Summary: The BAU are investigating a series of murders related to the music industry and Hotch finds himself caught up with the enigmatic Dr Spencer Reid, a former member of a boy band but now pursuing other interests.





	1. Unkown Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at an AU, it's an idea that's been kicking around in my head for a couple of months. It's partly inspired by Professor Brian Cox, who also had a brief career in a boy band before going on to be a world renowned particle physicist, (and who I have an enormous crush on, go google a photo if you don't know who he is). Each chapter's title is taken from an album that has made an impact on my life, the title of the story is part of Brian Cox's PhD thesis. The idea came from Thomas Gisbon's ad-libbed line in S05 E22 The internet is forever: when he says to Matthew Gubler "What, did you join a boy band?". I got me thinking, what if he had...

He checked the peephole and briefly debated just walking back to the bedroom and ignoring the buzzer, before finally unlocking and opening the door.

It was worth it just for the look on Agent Hotchner’s face.

Spencer raised one arm and leaned against the door jamb, the pose accentuating the long line of his body and was a clear signal for Hotch not to enter. His tight black leather pants were cut to reveal the shadowy hollows of his hips and the line of fine downy hair running from his navel down to the silver button that nestled low on his groin. The soft white cotton shirt was fully unbuttoned so it hung from the line of his shoulders, framing his pale, smooth torso. The whiteness of his skin contrasted sharply with the thin strip of black leather around his neck and the glinting silver cross hanging between nipples the color of dark honey. His tastefully mussed hair reflected almost the same shade, a few carefully articulated blonde highlights adding to the illusion of light and movement. Thin black leather strips were also wound around each wrist, tied so that each one left a trailing tail long enough to hint that they could be tied together. The black eyeliner emphasized the way his Hazel eyes dominated his face, and made Spencer look both vulnerable and impenetrable at the same time.

Aaron had never seen anything so paradoxically indecent and innocent at the same time.

“I was just on my way out” Spencer said, drinking in Aaron’s shocked expression.

“Obviously” Aaron managed.

“Would you like to come?” Spencer asked, emphasizing the last word as Aaron choked a little and swallowed hard.

“I don’t think I’m exactly dressed for…wherever it is you’re going.”

Spencer smiled wickedly, “The whole idea is not to stay dressed for long.” He turned and walked back into his apartment and despite knowing it was a terrible idea Aaron followed him. It would have been impossible not to.

Spencer leaned his shoulders against the kitchen door and deliberately folded his arms across his chest. For a second Aaron’s eyes tightened in consternation at being denied the view of Reid’s body but he hoped the younger man would interpret it as impatience with his attitude.

“What can I do for you Agent Hotchner?” Spencer asked just slowly enough to make it sound like a proposition.

“I…er…just have a few more questions for you Mr. Reid.” Aaron felt way out of his depth standing in the young man’s apartment. He risked a quick glance at his surroundings and was a little taken aback by the understated elegance of the décor and the plethora of bookshelves that dominated the living space.

“At this time of night? On your own? What happened to that rather aggressively handsome agent who was with you earlier, or are you keeping him all to yourself. What was his name again, Morgan something? And by the way, it’s Dr. Reid, not mister.” Spencer arched his brows and his eyes sparkled in amusement. He was clearly enjoying himself at the expense of Aaron’s discomfort.

“It will only take a few moments, _Dr. Reid_ ,” Aaron replied evenly, not letting himself be drawn by the other man’s teasing. He mentally kicked himself for not remembering that the musician had not one but two PhD’s, one in music and one in of all things, particle physics. “Then you can go, wherever it is you go, dressed like that.”

Spencer laughed aloud.

“Do I take it that you don’t approve of the way I’m dressed? And here I thought you were just a little bit disappointed when I blocked your view, obviously I’ve mistaken you.” Spencer pushed off from the door and moved across the room to an Art Deco drinks trolley positioned unobtrusively near one of the bookcases. Aaron watched the lithe grace of his stride, probably the result of hours of dance classes, or maybe it was innate, that kind of fluidity could rarely be taught. Reid’s accurate interpretation of Aaron’s gaze rattled him a little. This man was far more dangerous than he’d realized.

“Seeing as you’re delaying my departure, can I offer you a drink?”

“Thank-you no,”

“Perhaps another time, when you’re not being quite so, official.”

There was no mistaking the flirtatiousness in the offer. Aaron was immediately surprised by how tempting that sounded, although really he shouldn’t have been. Over the last twenty-four hours he’d found his mind returning to the brief interview he and Morgan had conducted with Spencer Reid. The FBI had asked to speak with him in connection with a series of murders that had taken place over the last couple of weeks. Someone was stalking and killing people associated with the music industry. The team hadn’t quite established what linked the victims, but all of them had at some time entered the sphere of a particular record label and Garcia’s research had thrown up Spencer Reid’s name. At this stage he wasn’t a suspect, but Aaron had hoped he might be able to provide them with some clue as to what it was that united the victims. Dr Reid was no longer a recording artist, he’d been part of a highly successful but short lived ensemble in the early 2000’s, what Hotch knew was referred to as a ‘Boy Band’. Along with four others he’d had a string of top 10 hits over an eighteenth month period and then following a very public bust up, which was notable for one of the members expressing his undying love publicly on breakfast television for another member of the group, they had fallen off the radar. Hotch had read the information Garcia had quickly assembled prior to meeting him the first time. She had included the name of the poor, lovesick boy, but not which other man he’d been pining over. Hotch wondered if it had been Reid. He was certainly the type to inspire desperate infatuation, Aaron couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if the band had continued. He could imagine this man commanding Bieber like obsession, if he’d had the chance to.

The interview had been reasonably straightforward, Reid had been cool, but co-operative, and he’d looked nothing like he did now, dressed somberly in stylish black, sans eyeliner and overt sexuality. Still, Aaron had found himself replaying their encounter over again in his mind. There was something about Spencer Reid that had peaked his curiosity, and when the team had uncovered some further information he had taken it upon himself to pay Dr. Reid a late night visit on the off chance he could add something to their meagre knowledge. Now, faced with the disconcerting reality of the man in his own environment, Aaron doubted the wisdom of his decision.

Reid poured himself two fingers of what Hotch recognized as very expensive single malt whisky and added one large ice cube from the silver bucket on the trolley. He looked at Aaron expectantly.

“So, ask your questions Agent Hotchner. I have, as they say, places to go, people to do.” Reid looked seductively at him over the rim of the glass. He tipped his head back and swallowed, Hotch felt his breath catch slightly at the sight of the arc of Reid’s throat.

“We think there might be a connection to the record company your band was signed with.” Aaron said when he regained his composure. “Can you think of anyone who you worked with back then who might hold some kind of grudge against the management there?”

“Hmmnph.” Reid scoffed. “Everyone who worked there had a grudge against the management, especially the artists. Those idiots were vampires. They sucked everything they could from you for their own profit, they exploited the young and vulnerable and they chewed you up and then spat you out again. I take that back, at least vampires are sexy, these guys were ghouls, feeding on the carcasses of the young and aspirational,” Reid said bitterly.

“Do you remember any particular individuals who were problematic, more er…ghoulish than the others, by name?”

“I have an eidetic memory Agent Hotchner, I remember everybody’s name, and everything about them, always.”

That hadn’t been in Garcia’s file on Reid and Aaron found himself becoming even more fascinated by the strange creature he was watching.

“There was one man, his name was Nick Sherridan. Not content with screwing us financially, he attempted to do it literally as well. He turned particularly nasty when I told him I’d rather have sex with a herpes riddled leper than him.”

Aaron smiled in spite of his desire to maintain a professional demeanor. It was an arresting image.

“Did this Sherridan ever threaten you or the others in your band directly?”

“It depends on what you think constitutes a threat. He told Simon he’d stop the free cocaine and then Billy that he’d out him in public. Of course, that was pointless, Billy did it himself in the end, but no, Agent Hotchner, he never threatened to kill us.”

Reid’s voice lingered a fraction too long on his name, and Hotch almost offered ‘call me Aaron’ but stopped himself before he said the words.

“Now, _Hotch_ , why don’t you take off that tie and join me for a drink. Perhaps I don’t need to go out tonight after all.” Reid’s eyes flashed with suppressed laughter. Aaron was sure he must have heard someone at the office use his nickname when he came in for the interview, or maybe this extraordinary man had just intuited it. He wouldn’t put it past him, he wouldn’t put anything past the enigmatic figure standing before him.

Aaron tugged on his tie too loosen it and undid the button on his collar. Two could play that game. Aaron saw Reid’s eyes widen in surprise and for the first time since he’d entered the apartment he saw the young musician’s composure falter.

“You have no idea how tempting that offer is, but I’m afraid I still have paperwork to finish. Perhaps another time, when I’m not being so ‘offical’.” Aaron smiled, the slightest hint of something dark and predatory in his eyes. “Thank you for your time, you’ve been very,” Hotch paused deliberately, “entertaining”.

“I think the word you want is ‘helpful’. That’s what FBI agents usually say.” Spencer had regained his composure, but there was a wariness in his eyes that hadn’t been there previously.

“I’m not your usual FBI agent,” Hotch said placidly.

“That, Agent Hotchner, is becoming quite apparent. Aren’t you going to leave me your card?”

“Why would I do that?”

“In case I remember something. Isn’t that how it goes?”

“You’ve already told me, you remember everything. About everyone. Always.”

Reid bowed his head slightly in acquiescence, then flicked him a heated glance through impossibly long eyelashes.

“I might want to call you about something else, or I might just want to call you.”

Hotch reached into his pocket and removed first a pen and then his business card. He carefully wrote his personal mobile number on the back and placed it on the bookshelf behind him.

“I’ll look forward to it,” he said quietly and then left the apartment without looking back.

Spencer had changed his mind about going out, all he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and replay every word the FBI agent had exchanged with him. He poured himself another drink and gave thanks yet again for his eidetic memory. He picked up Hotch’s card from the bookshelf.

“Oh, my, Agent Hotchner,” Spencer whispered as he tucked the card carefully into his wallet. “I think I like you, I think I like you very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unknown Pleasures: Joy Division 1979


	2. Substance

Aaron opened his front door and tossed his keys onto the table. His whisky wasn’t quite as good as Dr. Reid’s but he poured himself a generous measure anyway and settled onto his couch. He felt irrationally glad that this case was local, and that he was able to avoid another night in a hotel. He reached for his briefcase to open a case file, but then changed his mind. His encounter with Spencer Reid had left him feeling restless and he knew he couldn’t focus on work right now. His mind was caught on the image of the young man leaning in the doorway and his body was responding in unexpected ways. It had been months since Aaron had felt aroused by the appearance of anyone and it took him some time to realize what the tingling sensation that accompanied his thoughts of Dr. Reid signified. It was probably just the loneliness creating stirrings of desire for someone far beyond the realm of his experience. Since the divorce, Aaron had given little thought to his personal life, but Spencer Reid had triggered the need to feel something for someone again, something more than just the companionship of colleagues, the comfort of friends. He had enjoyed the verbal sparring with the young man, he’d even enjoyed being teased so outrageously and he had to admit he had particularly enjoyed the way the young man looked at him, like he was something tasty to be licked and savoured. He knew it was just a ruse, a game designed to put Hotch at a disadvantage, Reid’s reaction when he’d loosened his tie demonstrated that he’d had no real interest beyond making Hotch feel uncomfortable. Except, he’d asked for his phone number. It might have just been part of the game, but, and a small spark of hope flared brightly, maybe he really wanted to see him again.  
Aaron finished his drink and walked into the spartan space of his bedroom. There was nothing of himself in the room, it was purely functional, like the anonymous hotel rooms he spent so many nights in. As he hung up his suit and crawled into bed he wondered what Reid’s bedroom looked like. If what he had seen of his apartment was anything to go by, it would be tasteful and elegant, deeply imprinted with the force of Reid’s personality. It occurred to him that while his bed was empty he was almost certain Reid’s wasn’t and a thread of longing wound its way around his heart. He drifted into sleep dreaming of alabaster statues that came to life and big hazel eyes rimmed in black.

The first thing Hotch did when he reached the office the next morning was put a call through to their technical analyst.

  
“Hi Garcia, I want you to do some further digging on Dr. Spencer Reid. I want to know everything you can find, soon as you can.”

  
“I’m on it El Supremo, is he a suspect?”

  
“Not yet, but he’s someone I need to know more about.” That was at least the truth, Hotch reflected. Feeling a little like a teenager, he checked his personal mobile phone just in case he’d missed any contact, but it was annoyingly void of any messages. Aaron sighed, just as David Rossi appeared in his doorway.

  
“Dave, what can I do for you?”

  
“I think we’ve had a break, a man walked into the MPDC this morning and confessed to both murders, apparently he knew details that hadn’t been released to the public. They want us to go interview him.”

  
“I’ll meet you at the car, grab Morgan, he should come too.”

  
Aaron collected his case files and picked up the phone.

  
“Garcia, don’t worry about Dr. Reid, it looks like there is a suspect in custody.”

  
“Oh, but he seems so interesting, and gorgeous too, does this mean I won’t get a chance to meet him?” Penelope sounded genuinely disappointed.

  
“Just send what you’ve gathered so far to my phone, but nothing further unless it’s required.”

  
“Got you boss man, sending it now.”

The notes Garcia sent to his phone made interesting reading and Hotch scrolled through them on their way to the capital. Spencer Reid had grown up in Las Vegas and been somewhat of a child prodigy. He graduated high school at a very young age and then spent some years studying music and science. By the time he was 18 he had finished his first PhD, in music and had played a key role in forming a band called ‘Prescience’. They had produced only two studio albums but each had spawned two top ten hits, one of which was still made radio playlists reasonably regularly. Once the group disbanded, Reid went back to university and completed another PhD, this time in particle physics. It was an odd change of direction and Hotch wondered what had driven the young man to choose such a path after the heady whirlwind of fame and celebrity. He made a mental note to listen to some of their music. Garcia had included several photos of the band members at the height of their career and he gazed at photo of five ridiculously pretty, post adolescent boys. He had no trouble identifying Reid, even amongst such a good-looking group, Reid stood out. He was the only one who looked a little bit edgy, not quite as cookie cutter as the others. There wasn’t the brazen provocation Hotch had encountered last night, but there were hints of it. The slightly forward thrust of his hips, the dark rimmed eyes and the pout that slid towards a sneer. Hotch did some mental arithmetic and worked out that Reid would have been nineteen when this picture was taken, eight years ago. Since then his face had become more angular, the cheekbones more prominent, the jawline slightly more defined. He was outrageously pretty as a nineteen year old, as a twenty seven year old he was arrestingly beautiful. Hotch supressed a small sigh, aware of the weight of the phone in his pocket, the phone that remained frustratingly silent.

Hotch and Morgan entered the interview room while Dave watched from behind the glass. The suspect’s name was Billy Miller, Hotch recognised it from the information Garcia gave them the first time he met Reid. The man sitting behind the interview table bore little resemblance to the bright young face he had seen in the photograph only an hour ago. Deep lines were etched either side of his mouth and his skin was pale and clammy looking. There was a cluster or sores near his bottom lip and his eyes darted around the room without really taking anything in. He had lank, dirty blonde hair and he hadn’t shaved, Hotch guessed, for at least two days.

  
“Hello Billy. I’m agent Hotchner, this is agent Morgan, we’re with the FBI. The Washington police seem to think you have something to tell us about two murders that were committed over the last 16 days. Can you tell us what happened?”

  
Billy chewed ravenously at his fingernails and his leg kept up a constant tapping on the floor.

  
“I killed them,” he muttered indistinctly, the fingers in his mouth muffling his speech.

  
Morgan threw a glance at Hotch and they were both thinking the same thing.

  
“Officer has this man been drug tested?” Hotch turned to the attending MPDC uniform guarding the door.

  
“Doc said he’s probably in withdrawal, he didn’t find anything in his blood, but he suspects this guy’s got some kind of opioid addiction.”  
That would fit with the symptoms Hotch reasoned, but it might make getting anything sensible out of the man difficult.

  
“Who did you kill Billy, and why?” Morgan asked gently.

  
“They were bad men,” Billy slowly, “bad, bad men.”

  
Hotch and Morgan spent the next two hours trying to untangle Billy’s fevered recollections into some semblance of a meaningful narrative. When they finished, they had little doubt that Billy had indeed killed the two victims, but something was bothering Hotch. As they drove back to Quantico, Aaron voiced his reservations.

  
“Something doesn’t fit Dave. These murders were sloppily executed but carefully planned. I don’t doubt that Miller killed them, but I’m not convinced he did it alone. I think someone set it in motion, someone used Billy as a crude executioner’s tool, but I have no idea who, or why.”

  
“I agree Hotch, but I don’t see what we can do about it. MPDC are closing the case. It’s no longer our problem.”

  
“Maybe we should speak to Dr. Reid again. He and Miller were both members of the same band, and I have a niggling feeling that somehow this is connected.”

  
“Nothing to lose” Dave agreed.

Hotch settled himself behind his desk.

  
“Hey Garcia,” Hotch said when she picked up the call. “Can you get me the number for Dr. Spencer Reid?”

  
“On it’s way sir, do you think he might be interested in dating an FBI technical analyst?”

  
“Garcia,” Hotch warned.

  
“Okay, okay, I was just wondering” she clicked off.

  
The phone on Aaron’s desk buzzed and he picked up the handset.

  
“Aaron Hotchner.”

  
“Agent Hotchner? This is detective Vecchio from the MPDC. The suspect you interviewed this afternoon, Billy Miller, he’s dead. We found him in his cell an hour ago, it looks like a drug overdose but we don’t have any toxicology results yet.”  
Aaron cursed.

  
“How the hell did that happen?” he growled into the phone.

  
“Er...we’re still trying to work that out. He was searched of course, but drugs are notoriously difficult to detect sometimes, and he wasn’t showing any suicidal tendencies.”  
Aaron sighed.

  
“Okay, thanks for informing me detective.”

Hotch dialled the number from his personal phone and waited for Reid to answer.  
“Good evening Agent Hotchner, what can I do for you tonight?” Reid’s voice purred on the other end. Reid must have entered Hotch’s number into his phone to recognise the call. Hotch felt a flicker of pleasure at the knowledge.

  
“Good evening Dr. Reid. I’m afraid I have some bad news. MPDC arrested Billy Miller this afternoon in connection with the recent murders. He has confessed and there seems little doubt he was responsible for the deaths. I’ve just had a call from the Washington police, Billy was found dead in his cell this evening. There are a few loose ends I’d like to wrap up, would it be possible for you to come to Quantico tomorrow so we can talk?”

  
“Billy?” Reid whispered, all trace of flirtatiousness had disappeared from his voice. “Billy couldn’t hurt a fly, let alone murder two men. You must have made a mistake Agent Hotchner.”

  
“I’m sorry,” Hotch said gently. “There’s no mistake. I interviewed him myself. He showed signs of opioid addiction, that possibly contributed to his actions.” Hotch could hear Reid’s breathing on the other end of the line, but the young man didn’t speak.

  
“Dr. Reid, are you still there?”

  
“Yes, yes I’m still here,” Reid’s voice was raw with emotion and Hotch decided that whoever was responsible for turning Miller into a puppet of death it wasn’t Spencer Reid.

  
“Agent Hotchner, is there any chance, I mean, could you come to my apartment? I’m happy to speak to you, but I don’t want to come to Quantico, and ... and I could use the company right now.” Reid suddenly sounded much younger than his twenty seven years and Hotch felt a bolt of tenderness for the young musician. He was also a little surprised that Reid would choose his company rather than a friend, or a lover.

  
“Of course, if that’s what you’d like.” Hotch said softly.

  
“Yes, that’s what I’d like, thank-you,” the young man’s gratitude was genuine and underlying it was a vulnerability that plucked at Aaron like fingers on a harp.

  
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  
“Okay,” Reid whispered and hung up.

It was a very different looking Spencer Reid from the previous evening who opened his door when Aaron pressed the buzzer. It was obvious the young man had been crying and Hotch wanted desperately to be able to offer him some comfort, he just wasn’t sure how.

  
“Thank you for coming Agent Hotchner, this has brought back some rather painful memories for me. It’s good to be able to talk to someone who... who has experience dealing with these things”

  
Aaron smiled gently, “You’d better call me Hotch, most people do.”

  
“Then thank-you Hotch, I appreciate it,” Reid replied, a look of wistfulness on his tear stained face. Even like this, Aaron thought, he was beautiful.

  
“Please, have a seat,” Reid motioned to the sumptuous looking black leather sofa, one of the few pieces of modern furniture in the room. “Would you like a drink? I’m going to have one, or maybe more,” he added.

  
“A whisky please, just a small one, I have to drive. You have excellent taste in single malt’s Dr. Reid.”

  
“Please, call me Spencer. No one ever really calls me Dr. Reid, last night I was just being difficult.”

  
“I would never have guessed,” Aaron said, as he reached for the glass the young man was offering him. Spencer managed a brief grin before sinking down onto the sofa beside him. He twisted his body so he was facing Aaron, but his gaze was focused on his glass, and Hotch noted that he’d poured himself a significantly larger measure than the one he’d offered Aaron.

  
“Tell me what happened to Billy,” Spencer said, after a large sip of his drink. “I need to understand.”

  
“I can tell you what I know, but I’m not sure I understand what happened. I was hoping you might be able to help me fill in some missing pieces.” Spencer looked at Aaron and there was pain and regret in his expression.

  
“I’ll try” he said softly. Hotch wrapped both hands tightly around his glass to stop himself from reaching for the young man’s hand.

  
“I met Billy at university, we were enrolled in some of the same subjects and like me, he didn’t quite fit the mould. I was much younger than my classmates, and Billy was, well, very open about his sexuality. You’d think it wouldn’t matter in a course full of ‘creative types’, but music faculties can be quite conservative. Simon joined us at the beginning of our third year, and we decided to form a band. The other two, John and Andy came later.” Spencer stopped speaking and stared into his glass, caught up in memories of long summer jam sessions and wild youthful exuberance.

  
“When was the last time you saw him?” Hotch prompted gently.

  
“Not for years, not since the band split up and I went to study at Caltech. He tried to contact me a couple of times early on, but the split was still too raw, and I was trying to put that part of my life behind me, you know, ‘move on’.”

  
“Was he in love with you?” Hotch wasn’t sure why he asked, apart from his own curiosity, but Spencer didn’t seem to find the question strange.

  
“I think he might have been, at one time, but I thought of him more as an older brother, and Billy fell in and out of love on a daily basis. We were never lovers, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  
Aaron realised that was exactly what he’d been asking, and he couldn’t help but feel relief at Spencer’s response.

  
“Was Billy into drugs?”

  
“We were all into drugs Hotch, it was part of ‘the scene’. Girls, boys, drugs, parties, we were young, rich, famous and clueless. It was a dangerous combination, I’m not sure how any of us survived. Simon was the coke-head, towards the end he was pretty much high all the time. Billy liked opioids, Andy and John mainly stuck to party drugs.”

  
“And you?” Hotch queried.

  
Spencer grinned and Hotch caught a glimpse of the provocative young man he encountered last night lurking behind the grief.

  
“I’m not sure I should say, you might arrest me.”

  
“I’m asking, not judging.”

  
“You really aren’t a typical FBI agent. I’ve never met non-judgemental law enforcement before.” Hotch grinned back.

  
“I remember what it was like to be young and clueless, although thankfully not rich and famous.”

  
“You’re not exactly old now you know,” Spencer teased, and Hotch felt his body hum a little under the simmering gaze Spencer raked across him.

  
“I’m old enough to know better.”

  
Spencer sighed.

  
“Physics might be my chosen field, but I’ve always had an interest in chemistry as well. Let’s just say I experimented with a little bit of everything, but nothing I enjoyed enough to form a habit.”

  
“We think Billy died of an opioid overdose in his cell, they’re still waiting for the toxicology report, but it seems to fit with what we already know, and what you just confirmed.”

  
Spencer lifted himself from the sofa and moved towards the bar. He poured himself another a drink and raised an eyebrow at Hotch.

  
“No, but thank you, it’s excellent whisky.”

  
“And there’s no doubt he killed those people?” Spencer asked, coming back to the sofa and planting himself just a little closer to Hotch.

  
“No....but,”

  
“But what?”

  
“Is there anyone you can think of who might have exerted a strong influence over Billy? Someone who he might have looked up to, or followed?”

  
Spencer thought for a moment.

  
“So, you think somebody else was involved? Billy was following orders?”

  
“It’s possible. The murders were carried out in a disorganised way, but also suggested careful planning. It’s a discrepancy that often suggests more than one person may have been involved.”

  
“I wish I could help. As I said, it’s been years since I’ve had any contact with Billy, with any of them actually.”

  
Hotch knew he should go, there wasn’t much more he could discover tonight that was related to the case, a case that officially was closed now anyway, but he was reluctant to leave. Despite the young man’s melancholy, Hotch was enjoying Reid’s company. It wasn’t like he had anything to go home to anyway.

  
“So, what is it exactly that you do these days, besides frequent questionable establishments where people seem in a hurry to remove their clothes.” Hotch smiled mischievously, displaying the most perfect set of dimples Spencer had ever seen. The young man nestled back a little into the soft, warm leather of the sofa and peered at Hotch over the rim of his glass.

  
“I have an adjuct position at Georgetown, mostly because it allows me the use of their facilities to conduct my own research. I supervise an occasional PhD student, give the odd lecture, but mostly I set my own hours. You should come with me next time, to the questionable establishment, you look like you need to, ‘get out more’.”

  
“I probably do, but I think I’m a bit past the sort of place where clothing is optional.”

  
“That remains to be seen,” Spencer said teasingly, and was surprised by the slight blush that coloured the other man’s face.

  
“It’s late, I should get going,” Hotch said, making no attempt to move from the comfort of Spencer’s sofa.

  
“How long since the divorce?” Spencer asked, and Hotch looked at him questioningly.

  
“You used to wear a wedding ring, but haven’t for a while, not so long though, that the faint line of it has disappeared. A job like yours must be hell on a relationship, so I’m guessing you’re divorced, rather than widowed. Of course, I could be wrong...” Spencer’s expression suggested that was unlikely.

  
“No, you’re not mistaken. It’s been six months since it was all finalised,” Hotch lowered his gaze to the empty glass still in his hand. It felt longer, like his marriage belonged to another time, another person. Spencer reached across and traced a finger across the barely perceptible line on the agent’s hand. Hotch twitched in response, not because the touch was unwelcome, but because it sent a little jolt of something electric straight to his groin.

  
“I’m sorry,” Spencer offered, folding his hand back in his lap. “Do you...are you still... never mind, it’s none of my business.”

  
“It’s okay, am I still in love with her? No, not in love, but I miss having someone to talk to when I get home, someone to share things with. You’re right, I have a stressful job, but I have colleagues with whom I work that through. What I miss is having someone to laugh with, to be around who isn’t part of my job. To remind me that there’s not just madness and death all around.” Hotch looked up from his glass and found the young man staring at him in wonder. ‘Oh God’, Aaron thought, ‘he thinks I’m pathetic. I probably am.’ He stood up quickly and placed his empty glass on the coffee table.

  
“I’m sorry about Billy, Spencer, I really am. If anything else occurs to you, please give me a call.” Before he could step towards the door Spencer glided from the sofa in one effortless motion, blocking Aaron’s exit with his body.

  
“What are you?” he asked, placing one hand on Aaron’s hip and looking deep into his eyes.

  
“What do you mean?” Aaron stared at him in confusion.

  
“Well, you can’t possibly be a real FBI agent, you’re way too human for that, not to mention a face that I could write music about and a soul that feels so deeply about things it’s a wonder you don’t break in two. I think I’m going to kiss you Hotch, if you don’t want that, you’d better tell me now, before I decide I don’t care whether you want me to or not.”

  
“In that case, you should probably call me Aaron,” he murmured, not waiting for Spencer to close the gap between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Substance: New Order 1987


	3. Let's Dance

Spencer’s arm slid from where it rested on Aaron’s hip to encircle the older man’s waist and pulled him firmly against his body. Aaron pressed his mouth against the softness of Spencer’s lips and they opened immediately, Hotch could the taste the whiskey on his tongue as he kissed him; whisky, grief and longing.

“You really are full of surprises, Agent Hotchner” Spencer murmured breathlessly against his skin as their lips parted and the young musician nuzzled wantonly at Aaron’s throat. “I was sure you were straight.”

Aaron tipped his head back as Spencer ran his tongue along Hotch’s jawline, the sensation unspooling a taut line of desire through his body, hard and hot like wire.

“I was sure I was too Dr Reid, then I knocked on your door, and now I’m not sure of much at all.”

“What do you think we should do about that?” Spencer inquired, his mouth working its way back along Aaron’s jaw and finding his lips once again. Aaron moaned softy.

“I’m finding it difficult to think anything right now,” Aaron replied, when Spencer released his lips long enough to let him speak.

“The pursuit of science requires us to make sacrifices, I think you should sacrifice your clothing so that we can continue to investigate this unexpected phenomena...” Spencer said as his long dexterous fingers started to work Aaron’s tie loose.

Aaron laughed, but he caught Spencer’s hands in his and stilled them.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said gently.

“What’s wrong Agent Hotchner, are you afraid of a little experimentation? Does it make you uncomfortable that your body is responding to the caresses of another man?” Spencer looked pointedly at the swelling in Hotch’s suit pants.

“Not really, Aaron answered calmly. “But it does make me uncomfortable that you’re in the midst of grieving for a friend, that you’ve had a couple of very large whiskies and that you are unquestionably very vulnerable right now.”

“Are you suggesting I’m looking for a sympathy fuck,” Spencer said bitterly, pushing Aaron away from him so that the older man was forced to take a step backwards and release his grip on Spencer’s hands.

“Well, aren’t you? I probably would be, if I were you.”

“You aren’t me. You don’t know anything about me,” Spencer almost snarled.

“No, but I’d like to get to know you, if you’d let me. I just don’t think this is the best way to start.”

“Always the gentleman,” Spencer said sarcastically. “What do you suggest instead?” Spencer hated that he sounded so needy, but he’d consumed just enough alcohol to make it impossible to disguise the want in his voice, that and the intoxication of being pressed against Aaron’s body, his mouth, the deep velvet of his voice. He knew more than anything else he wanted this man to stay.

Aaron took a step forward so that their bodies were almost in contact again, almost, but not quite. He reached out a hand and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind Spencer’s ear, allowing the palm of his hand to rest gently against the young man’s cheek.

“I don’t think you should be alone, and besides, I don’t want to leave. We can talk, or watch a film, or just sit, if that’s what you’d prefer. But I’m not going to let you undress me and take me bed. Not tonight, anyway,” he added as an afterthought.

Spencer smiled and turned his head slightly so that his lips brushed against the base of Aaron’s thumb and he could feel Aaron quiver in response.

“Okay,” he whispered, his breath warm against Aaron’s skin. “But you can’t blame a boy for trying, and I get a feeling that maybe, just maybe, you’ll be worth the wait.” He liked the way that Aaron just blushed in answer. Despite the lightheadedness that was no doubt a combination of whisky and unfulfilled desire, Spencer felt himself moving dangerous close to feeling something more than just physical need for this strangely compassionate, distractingly gorgeous FBI agent. Aaron Hotchner was unlike anyone he’d ever met before. Spencer had become so used to people always wanting something from him; an autograph, an introduction to someone in the industry, even his students were always looking for more, more feedback, more advice. It felt for the first time in a long time that Aaron wanted nothing from him except his company, even that he was more interested in giving than taking. It was a heady combination, Spencer had to warn himself not to get too deeply invested in a relationship that the odds would suggest could only end in heartbreak. Aaron’s flirtation with him was probably based on loneliness and curiosity, he felt certain it would fade once he met a woman prepared to accept his odd working hours and that, given his charm and film star good looks Spencer reflected sadly, was just a matter of time. 

In the end they spent the rest of the evening on the sofa, watching documentaries about the origins of the universe. Aaron had expressed a desire to know more about Spencer’s research, so they sat, Spencer curled into Aaron’s chest, Aaron’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, sometimes absently stroking Spencer’s hair. When Spencer woke the next morning, still lying on the warm, black leather of the sofa there was a note on the coffee table.

_I didn’t want to wake you, but I have to go. Please have dinner with me tonight, 8pm._

_Your choice, text me where you want to meet. A. xx_

Spencer arced his body in a long stretch and felt like suddenly there was a reason to get up. Billy was gone and nothing was going to change that, but maybe there was something to look forward to, something deliciously unexpected, something that involved the taste of Aaron Hotchner and the feel of his body. Spencer smiled at the thought and reached for his phone. There were twenty unread messages mostly from people expressing sympathy at Billy’s death. It must have made the morning news, the combination of a former pop star and a serial murderer was too good a headline not to splash across the front of the dailies. Spencer felt his breathing stutter a little when he reached the final message.

We need to talk. 

It was from Simon, Spencer felt the euphoria from the thought of seeing Aaron again suddenly evaporate. His thumb hovered over the delete button, but he knew he could no more delete the message than he could ignore it.

_When?_

I’m flying into Dulles late tonight, let’s have breakfast. Vita’s, like we used to @ 9am 

Spencer gave an involuntary shudder.

_I’ll be there._

I know you will.

Spencer tried to stop the slight tremor that had found its way into his hand.

“Simon,” he whispered, wishing more than anything he could just curl up on the sofa and not ever have to leave it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's Dance: David Bowie 1983


	4. Boys Don't Cry

Spencer had chosen an Italian restaurant close to his apartment to meet for dinner and Aaron wondered if it was the food or the proximity that had been the deciding factor in the young musician’s selection. When he arrived he was shown to a table where Spencer was already waiting, the young man absently stroking the stem of a wine glass, absorbed in whatever thoughts were playing in his mind. He looked a little pale, the dark lilac color of his shirt accentuating the wanness, but Hotch couldn’t tell if that was the natural milkyness of his complexion or a result of the stress of the last few days.

  
“It’s good to see you,” Aaron said flashing his dimples as he slid into the seat opposite the young musician. Again, Spencer was struck by how gorgeous the FBI agent looked when he smiled, his dark eyes sparkling and the chiseled line of his jaw reflecting cut glass cheekbones. He grinned back, some of the tension he had been carrying all day dissolving.

  
“Wait until you see more of me, it will be more than good, I promise.” Spencer teased, and the agent responded with a faint blush. Aaron had been struggling all day to keep thoughts of Spencer from distracting him, once he caught himself pressing his fingertips to his lips, subconsciously trying to replicate the soft pressure of Spencer’s mouth pressed against his own. Spencer’s words summoned images of naked alabaster limbs, skin and sweat and that mouth, with which Aaron was increasingly becoming obsessed, sliding across his body. He made a half-hearted attempt to clear his throat and banish the image from his mind but Spencer was grinning wickedly.

  
“It seems you have quite the imagination Agent Hotchner.”

  
“Well Dr. Reid, some things are hard to resist.”

  
“Speaking of hard...” Spencer reached under the table and placed his hand on Aaron’s thigh just above the knee. He started to trace his thumb along the inner seam, inching slowly higher. He could hear Aaron’s breathing slow and then the small gasp as his fingers found what he was looking for.

  
‘Spencer, you’re going to make it very difficult for me to be able to sit comfortably and enjoy our meal together if you keep doing that.” Spencer gave an exaggerated sigh and moved his fingers back down Aaron’s thigh, briefly squeezing the other man’s leg before removing his hand altogether.

  
“I promise I’ll behave if...”

  
“If what?”

  
“If you promise you’ll misbehave later.”

  
“I’m already misbehaving, just by being here with you.”

  
“If you think this is misbehaving, you really do need to get out more.”

  
Aaron laughed, “That’s one of the reason’s I’m here.”

  
“What are the others?”

  
“There’s only one,” Aaron reached across the table and stroked the back of Spencer’s  
hand with his forefinger, “you.”

  
“We should hurry up and order then, so we can go and explore that more thoroughly, and privately.”

  
Aaron was expecting Spencer to be provocative, but there was something a little forced about his flirting, he wasn’t as relaxed and natural as he had been the first night Aaron has arrived at his apartment.

  
“Or we could take our time, try a little conversation, maybe find out a bit more about each other before you race me off to bed.”

  
“Are you saying you don’t want to come home with me?” Spencer sulked.

  
“No, I’m saying I want to enjoy your mind for a little longer before I enjoy your body.”

  
Hazel coloured eyes met his and narrowed slightly.

  
‘Are you that sure that you’re not just a figment of my overheated imagination? If I called Quantico right now and asked to speak to Special Agent Aaron Hotchner they’re not going to tell me that no such person exists?”

  
“I assure you Spencer, I’m real. I’m real, and I’m here and I want to have dinner with you. I want you to talk to me.”

  
“No one ever really wants to talk to me. They might want to ask me for something; a favor, a loan, a better grade on their mid-term, a blow job. But no one ever really wants to talk to me.”

  
“I do”

  
“Why?”

  
“Because, as you’re so fond of reminding me, I don’t get out much, and you’re the most fascinating, provocative, attractive person I’ve met in a very long time. That’s not to say I’m not interested in some of those other things, although I’m well past mid-terms, financially secure, and don’t need any favors...”

  
Spencer smiled, this time it travelled all the way to his eyes. Hotch grinned back.

  
“You do know though, it is kind of difficult to talk if my mouth is wrapped around your....”

  
“More wine?” Aaron interrupted.

  
“Why yes, thank-you Agent Hotchner.”

  
“My pleasure, Dr. Reid” Aaron said, his eyes locking on Spencer’s. He could feel the heat building in his gaze.

  
“Oh, it will be,”

  
Aaron shifted slightly, even without the boy’s touch he could feel the buzz in his groin. The effect this young man had on him was startling. Aaron was so accustomed to being in control, to manipulating others that the sudden disappearance of this ability made him feel a little lost. If he was being truthful with himself, it also made him feel excited.

  
“Welcome back,” Spencer said softly. “What were you thinking?”

  
“I was thinking that ever since I met you, I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

  
“Is that a bad thing?”

  
“No, I think...I think I’m quite enjoying it.”

  
“Are you hungry Aaron?”

  
“What? Oh,” His eyes flicked to the menu still resting on the table.

  
“I didn’t mean for food.” Aaron returned his gaze to the man sitting opposite him. In the low light, Spencer’s eyes were dark, but they glittered with a simmering intent.

  
“Yes,” Aaron’s voice was barely a whisper. “Yes I am.”

  
Spencer leaned across the table and slowly stroked Aaron’s wrist with his index finger. The other man shivered.

  
“And what are you hungry for?”

  
“I don’t know,” Aaron answered truthfully, and the boy frowned a little, before Aaron added “but I do know that, whatever it is, only you can give it to me.” The boy’s smile returned, brighter even than before, then he frowned and looked away.

“What is it Spencer?”

  
“Simon contacted me.” Spencer blurted suddenly. “He wants me to meet him tomorrow, for breakfast.” That, Aaron thought, explained the earlier edge of brittleness he had observed in Spencer’s manner.

  
“Do you want to do that?”

  
“It’s not a question of want, people don’t say no to Simon Radcliffe.”

  
“Not even you?”

  
“Especially not me.”

  
Aaron frowned. “Wouldn’t that depend on what on what he was asking for?”

  
“It’s not, I mean...” Spencer sighed deeply. “You don’t understand.”

  
“No, I don’t. Why don’t you explain it to me.” Aaron took hold of Spencer’s hand and gently turned it to expose his wrist. His fingers began to softly stroke the delicate skin beneath them and Spencer closed his eyes, the touch soothing him. When he opened them again and met the older man’s gaze Aaron was reminded of a painting he had once seen in a gallery. In it a young Mary was being visited by the angel Gabriel to announce the that she would give birth to a child by God. Unlike many versions of the Annunciation, this one showed a frightened and haunted girl, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the events surrounding her and unable, unwilling even to bear the burden being asked of her. While Spencer bore no physical resemblance to the teenage girl in the painting, their expressions were almost identical.

  
“Spencer, please talk to me. You don’t have to be afraid of him anymore.” Spencer smiled bitterly.

  
“That isn’t how fear works, you of all people should understand that, besides, it’s not him I’m afraid of, it’s me.”

  
“Why?”

  
“Because this, whatever this is, whatever it might become, I want it. I want you, in a way I haven’t wanted anyone for a very long time.”

  
“Tell me about Simon,” Aaron prompted gently. “Tell me why he’s such a threat.” Spencer sighed again and hesitantly began to speak.

  
“Billy and I had been messing around playing gigs at local bars for almost a year. Neither of us really had any particular ambitions, it was more a way to meet people and get free drinks. One evening Simon was there, he heard us play and he approached us at the end of the night. He said he had a friend in the industry and were we interested in recording a demo, he could take over lead vocals. It seemed like an amazing opportunity, although neither Billy or I believed that anything would come of it. We hadn’t realized what a superb showman Simon actually was. Within weeks we in a studio recording our first track. Simon had a smolderingly sexy voice, a face like an angel and a confidence and charisma that just seemed to wipe away obstacles. Before we knew what was happening, we were signed and the execs decided that adding two more pretty faces could only equal higher sales, so John and Andy were drafted in as well. At first it was, exhilarating. We made a video clip in the Caribbean, a week on a yacht sailing around Antigua. I couldn’t believe that this was suddenly my life. At the beginning, Billy and I were the driving musical forces, we wrote the songs, Simon was the frontman. Then things started to change, Simon became more demanding, wanting more ‘creative control’. He decided we needed to be sexier, our music videos more explicit, more in keeping with his personal style. He started wanting to control other things as well, specifically, me.”

Spencer paused his narrative and swallowed, Aaron could read the pain that was enveloping the boy as he remembered but he needed to know, needed to understand what this man had been to Spencer, what he still was. The waiter appeared beside them and both men ordered, Aaron barely cognizant of what he was choosing to eat, Spencer equally distracted. When the orders were placed and the waiter gone, Spencer continued.

  
“I’m not even sure how it happened, but soon Simon was making all the decisions, not just in terms of the music, but what we all wore, where we went and with whom. I had a girlfriend, but Simon decided she wasn’t good for me, wasn’t right for our ‘image’, so Xanthe had to go. I didn’t even try to argue with him, you have to understand, everything was so new, so unfamiliar. I was way out of my depth, we all were, all except Simon, and he took advantage of that.”

  
“How?” Aaron asked simply, and Spencer’s eyes focused on his with a look of self-loathing.

  
“Through sex, what else?”

  
“You and Simon were lovers?”

  
“Love had nothing to do with what we were. I wasn’t his lover, I was his...toy? Plaything? A hole for him to fuck?”

  
“Spencer, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t your fault.” Aaron gripped the young man’s hand firmly, but Spencer flinched in his grasp and Aaron sat still while a cold anger washed through him at the thought of what that man had done to the person sitting opposite him. This beautiful, extraordinary boy.

  
“Wasn’t it? I did nothing to stop him. I could have chosen to leave, instead I stayed.”

  
“Would it really have been that easy, to walk away?”

  
“No,” Spencer’s voice had faded to a whisper. “I tried once, we had a fight and I stormed out and checked into a hotel. He found me six hours later.”

  
“What happened?”

  
“We had to postpone a photoshoot until the bruises on my face faded enough to be covered with makeup.”

  
“And this charming man will be in the city tomorrow?” Aaron’s voice was heavy with barely concealed menace. Spencer’s eyes widened suddenly and he tilted back his head and laughed loudly.

  
“Why Agent Hotchner, I do believe you’re getting ready to saddle up and go defend my honor.”

  
“Simon Radcliffe sounds like he could do with a couple of days in a dank interrogation room while I teach him some manners.”

  
“Thank-you,” Spencer said softly. “Thank-you for not judging me. And appealing as your suggestion might once have been, all that is past now. Besides, I think your couple of days could be much better spent in a dark bedroom with me, while I teach you how to forget everything except the way my body feels wrapped around yours.” The mischievous smile was back, and Aaron could feel the tension slowly dissipating from Spencer’s body.

  
“I want to come with you, tomorrow when you meet him. There’re some questions I want to ask him about Billy Miller. I don’t want you going there alone.”

  
Aaron prepared for Spencer to object and was surprised when the young man exhaled slowly and said “Alright...if”

  
“If what?”

  
“Well, we are meeting for breakfast, so in order to ensure your prompt arrival, and not risk leaving me in the clutches of such an ill-mannered individual like Simon, you’ll have to stay with me tonight. Morning rush hour traffic being what is...”

  
It was Aaron’s turn to laugh aloud.

  
“Spencer, you are incorrigible!”

  
“Why thank-you Agent Hotchner, you do say the nicest things,” and he grinned. Aaron felt his pulse quicken at that smile, and he knew that he was falling for this strange, complex boy in a way that both frightened him and made him feel exhilaratingly alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boys Don't Cry: The Cure 1980
> 
> The painting Aaron mentions is Ecce Ancilla Domini, or The Annunciation by Dante Gabriel Rossetti


End file.
